


Kissable

by fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Episode: s01e08 Fromage, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:15:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28677984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup
Summary: A Season 1 AU ficlet which explores a simple premise: what would have happened if, after Will had gone to Hannibal's house and confessed to kissing Alana Bloom, he had ended up kissing Hannibal? Because, you know, it could so easily have happened! Many thanks to the splendid person on Twitter who expressed a wish to read a fic about this. I couldn't resist!
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 59
Kudos: 464





	Kissable

‘I kissed Alana Bloom.’

That is _not_ what he was going to say. Fuck, he’d practised enough on the drive over. 

_Doctor Lecter, I hope I’m not disturbing you._

_Doctor, I’m sorry if this isn’t a good time._

_Hannibal, I’m freaking out and I need your help._

The final one would have been red flag enough to indicate the distress he’s feeling: he’s not yet allowed himself the intimacy of trying out _that_ name on his tongue. And it’s kind of ironic because _intimacy_ is a word that he’s been associating a lot with Hannibal Lecter of late. 

Take the week before - the last in what’s rapidly becoming a series of times he’s found himself on Doctor Lecter’s doorstep - delivering a bottle of wine as a thank you for saving the final Silvestri victim. He’d walked in on dinner party preparations and felt ridiculously irked about it because any chance of them sharing the wine, just the two of them, was shot to shit. He'd batted back the doctor’s irritatingly polite invitation to stay - like he could possibly have meant it - and then, for good measure, made a crack about dating the Ripper. Even during their latest session (or conversation or whatever), they’d started out discussing the finer points of a murder and ended up talking about serenades. 

And now, Will’s just driven fifty miles to dissect a kiss. But not to blurt it out the second he’s through the door. It’s just that... in he’s blundered, ruffled and scruffy, hands coal-stained and brick dust stuck beneath his fingernails, and there’s _Hannibal_ looking like some goddamn handsome fairy tale prince with his three piece suit and slicked back hair and subtle, teasing cologne.

To cover his confusion, Will focuses on shaking out his raincoat. Flings it at a chair. Misses.

‘Well, come in,’ says the bemused prince.

Will’s already heading through to the kitchen - the heart of the house, a comforting space. And at least this way he can pretend he hasn’t realised that his coat is now a crumpled, wet heap on the previously spotless tile. 

Stops dead just inside the dining room. Table set for two, wine, _flowers_.

‘You have a guest?’ 

It’s entirely unreasonable but there it is - resentment, lodged in his throat. That outside of their weekly seven o’clock appointments, Hannibal has a life and friends and… someone who’s more than a friend? He hears the accent of accusation in his voice but it’s impossible to suppress a building annoyance. _White flowers and low lighting_.

‘Colleague.’ Brisk in tone and unusually succinct in words, Hannibal goes to close the open garden door, through which this colleague has apparently made a hasty exit. ‘You just missed him.’

 _Him._

‘Didn’t finish his dinner.’ Will tries, really tries to keep it light. But the edge remains.. 

‘An urgent call of some sort.’ A click as the lock turns. ‘Had to leave suddenly.’

 _You’re kidding, right?_ This whole scenario is reminiscent of some tacky French farce. And what’s alarming Will more than anything is that right now he’s empathising most with the role of the betrayed spouse.

‘This benefits you.’ Hannibal’s still talking and it’s still awkward. ‘Because I have dessert for two.’

_Not making it any better._

At a loss, Will trails into the kitchen after his accidental host. _Scraps. I’m getting scraps now._ Folds his arms across his chest and tries not to scowl.

‘Tell me,’ says the prince, busying himself at the oven, ‘what was Alana’s reaction?’

Alana. _Shit, yeah, the kiss._

Will draws a steadying breath. ‘She said she wouldn’t be good for me, and I wouldn’t be good for her.’ 

He’s trying to focus but he’s stuck on ‘ _dessert for two_ ’. 

‘I don’t disagree.’

_Gee, thanks._

‘She would feel an obligation to her field of study to observe you.’ Carefully plating the sweet puddings, Hannibal adds, ‘And you would resent her for it.’

 _God, he really gets me._

‘I know.’

And then… a shift, almost imperceptible.

‘Wondering, then, why you kissed her… and felt compelled to drive an hour in the snow to tell _me_ about it.’

There’s something in Hannibal’s voice - a tightness that he can’t quite disguise. He’s deftly flipping oven lids and opening refrigerator doors and wiping his hands and - avoiding Will’s eyes. He’s… jealous? The instant the thought forms, Will discards it. Although… it might not hurt to test the theory.

‘Well, I wanted to kiss her since I met her. She’s very kissable.’ 

Truth and obfuscation mingled. Because there’s another conversation taking place now, behind the veil of friendship and professional courtesy that has so far been drawn tightly between them.

‘Yeah.’ Their eyes meet just for a moment, and Hannibal huffs a peculiar sort of laugh. 

_Feeling self-conscious?_

He rallies quickly, of course. ‘You waited a long time, which suggests you were kissing her for a reason, in addition to wanting to.’ 

It’s almost _nah-nah-ni-nah-nah_ , but not quite. And anyway, Will’s distracted by long-fingered hands stirring and eyes of burnt amber staring. And a growing sense of _want_. Swallows. 

‘I heard an animal trapped in my chimney. Um.’ Hannibal’s stopped stirring, and Will’s afraid that _he’s_ going to look at him as if he’s nuts as well. He can take it from Alana, even Jack. But not from the man he - he - ‘Broke through the wall to get it out.’ To his intense relief, Hannibal’s back to serving the dessert. Will watches the spooning of cream, anchored by the normalcy, grateful. ‘Couldn’t find anything inside. Alana showed up. She looked at me.’ Words tumble faster now. ‘Uh, maybe her face changed, I don’t know. Um, sh- she knew -’ Courage failing, he flails.

‘What did she know, Will?’ 

Such gentleness, coaxing he feels as a caress. Closes his eyes briefly. 

‘There was no animal in the chimney. It was only in my head.’

Hannibal continues serving, prettying the puddings with chocolate confetti, but his eyes convey deep concern. Will’s drawn by it, warmed by it, and confessions flow faster.

‘I sleepwalk, I get headaches, I am hearing things.’ _Just say it._ ‘I feel unstable.’

For a moment, Hannibal appears to be studying the plates. When he lifts his head and their gazes connect, Will’s light-headed with anticipation. 

‘That’s why you kissed her. A clutch for balance.’

 _We’re back on that?_ It’s really hard not to roll his eyes. Impossible not to pout.

‘You said yourself, what you do is not good for you.’ 

The curt professionalism stings. Despondency flattens Will’s voice and he can’t hide it. 

‘Unfortunately, I _am_ good for _it_.’

‘Are you still hearing this killer’s serenade behind your eyes?’

Talk about whiplash! Then again, he has to wonder why Hannibal’s got this habit of returning constantly to the topic of Will’s ‘romances’. Could it be that Will’s not the only one who’s been seeing their friendship in a different light recently?

He laughs, injecting what he hopes is just the right amount of provocation. ‘It’s our song.’

And wow, yeah, that works. Now who’s pouting? Except that Will is filled with the sudden, overwhelming urge to _kiss it away_. It’s all that he can do to accept the proffered plate with a steady hand - he can’t even _look_ at Hannibal, and his smile of thanks is more of a grimace. Waits for Hannibal to fill the gap of silence as he always does. Waits some more. He’s getting redder and redder, just staring down at the flirtatious dessert. Picks up his spoon and makes a show of tasting the damn thing.

‘I hesitate telling you this as it borders on a violation of doctor-patient confidentiality.’ 

Unexpected. Is this Hannibal's way of telling him that he's developed feelings for his sort-of-patient? Will raises his gaze, trying not to allow hope to seep back in. Hates that he feels like a college freshman waiting to be asked out on a first date by his crush. 

‘A patient told me today he suspects a friend of his may be involved with the murder at the symphony.’

The disappointment is crushing. Will sets down his spoon.

‘Um.’ Scrubs his hands over his face. _Pull it together, for Christ’s sake_. ‘Wh-what did he say about his friend?’

‘He owns a music store in Baltimore, specialising in string instruments. Perhaps you should interview him.’

Nods, trying to ignore the dull ache of regret. ‘Yeah.’

Hannibal looks as sombre as Will feels. Which one of them was it who had said they should keep things between them on a strictly professional footing? It seems so long ago now, that morning in a Minneapolis motel room. When it was Hannibal who had turned up on Will’s doorstep, bearing food and fresh coffee and a smile that had seemed to suggest...

 _Oh, hell. Of course._ Will bites back a grin as his mood does a complete one-eighty. He fixes Hannibal with an earnest gaze. 

‘I hesitate telling you this as it directly violates a principle I laid down between us just after we met.’

‘Oh?’ There’s a subtle stiffening.

Will lifts his chin, allows defiance to glint. ‘You’re not the only one who sees things.’

‘I am well aware of that.’ Hannibal arranges his cutlery in a precise row atop a linen napkin: spoon, cake fork, knife. HIs finger trails along the knife's gleaming handle. ‘Your capacity to see and understand what most people shy away from even in the light of day is a constant source of surprise. You explore all the dark corners.’

'And chimneys.' 

His pathetic attempt at levity is acknowledged with a humouring nod. 'And chimneys, yes.'

‘Would you rather that I didn’t say it?’ Just for a moment, a sliver of uncertainty.

‘I think you had better.’

That low growl is fucking delicious. Will senses that it’s not for show - he’s been sensing a whole lot about Hannibal Lecter recently - but he tucks away the questions it raises for another time. 

Steps around the kitchen island into Hannibal’s space. Lays one hand palm-flat on the counter. Looks steadily into shadow-dark eyes.

‘As much as I’ve been - confused - in some areas of my life, in others I’ve found that I’m gaining clarity.’

‘How interesting.’ The slash of syllables is blade-sharp.

_He’s not getting it._

Will brings up his other hand and hooks his fingers into the space between Hannibal’s first two jacket buttons. He closes his thumb over them and tugs.

‘How long are you going to keep me waiting?’

The man before him stills. He’s warm beneath Will’s touch, heartbeat steady. _Coiled, ready to spring._

‘I’m sorry, Will. I’m afraid you have lost me.’

And that’s how it happens. With a self-deprecating, rusty chuckle, Will shakes his head. ‘I knew _I_ was bad at this, but I’d hoped _you_ might at least be able to make it easier for me.’

‘Easier? To do what?’ There is now a distinct huskiness in that voice of rough velvet. And a dawning awareness that lights a fire in hooded amber eyes.

_Now he's getting it. Thank fuck._

Will leans in. Tilts his head, parts his lips in unmistakable invitation. At least, he hopes it’s unmistakable. Hannibal’s gaze drops to his lips but he does nothing to close the gap between them. Ambivalence? Will doesn’t think so. Not any more. Not now that the pieces have slotted together. _When you know, you know._

This is not disinterest. This is about Alana _and that damn stupid kiss_. 

‘Something I’ve wanted to do for longer than I realised.’ 

He pushes off from the counter and slides his right hand up Hannibal’s chest, curls his fingers around Hannibal’s nape and tugs. There'll be no mistaking his intentions after this.

The first touch, soft and firm and dry, is so goddamn perfect it pulls a whimper from him. His eyes drift shut and he whimpers again when he feels those capable hands on his waist, hauling him close. Someone licks the seam between their lips, and they open to each other in perfect synchronicity. Hannibal tastes like fine wine; greedy, Will sucks on his tongue. The kiss turns dirty very quickly. What a pale imitation of passion was that _clutch for balance_ with Alana. Will would feel guilty about it if he could be bothered. He moans into Hannibal’s mouth, the salacious thrust of Hannibal’s tongue a desperate turn on. They’re both hard, and when Hannibal slams Will up against the refrigerator, he almost claws at him in his need.

‘I think,’ as Hannibal nuzzles against his cheek, ‘we should relocate upstairs. If that’s something you would be interested in.’

‘Oh, fuck, yes, please.’ Will seeks that beautiful mouth again. ‘God, I love kissing you.’

Far sooner than he would like, Hannibal breaks off again. ‘Tell me why,’ he instructs gruffly.

The jealousy is so overt, Will marvels that he didn’t see it before. In truth, it melts him. ‘Well, for one thing, _you’re_ extremely kissable,’ he teases, and sucks lightly at Hannibal’s reddened lower lip in demonstration.

‘That’s one thing. What are the others?’ It’s an autocratic command but Will knows better now. 

‘I’ll tell you one of the others now,’ he breathes, in between light brushes of his mouth against Hannibal’s. ‘And the rest in the morning. How’s that?’

‘Acceptable.’ 

They kiss again; things heat up again; soon, Will’s hands are pinned above his head and he’s gasping as Hannibal ruts their cocks together.

‘I can’t - it’s too - _Hannibal_.’

Forehead pressed to forehead, they back away from one precipice even as Will prepares to leap from another.

‘Tell me, Will.’ It’s as close to a plea as this proud man is capable of. 'Tell me why you want to kiss me.'

‘Well, I’m not sure how it’s happened,’ admits Will slowly, ‘but I seem to have developed another worrying symptom.’

‘Will.’ He’s released suddenly, and gentle fingers frame his face. ‘I believe I might know what ails you.’

‘Really?’ It throws him. ‘You’ve never mentioned it before.’

‘Things change.’ A flicker of a smile. ‘Sometimes on the toss of a coin, sometimes on the ring of a doorbell.’

There’s a lot to unpick there, but - 

‘Do me a favour? Let’s save the serious stuff for tomorrow?’ Pleads with his eyes. He wants this moment - this night - too badly to get sidetracked. 

‘Certainly.’

They gaze at one another, the veil thinning with every new confidence shared. Speaking of which...

‘This new thing.’ Will draws his nose against Hannibal’s, a final tenderness before the plunge. ‘I believe it’s called falling in love. And, um, well. I seem to have, uh, acquired it. From you.’

As a declaration, he thinks it must rate among the very worst in history. Hannibal, however, doesn’t seem to think so. His eyes shine with a light that’s practically exultant, and he crushes Will’s mouth beneath his in a kiss that’s so deep and profound, it brings the sting of tears. They start to fall when he whispers adoration against Will’s lips.

‘You will stay, then, my love?’ As, hand in hand, they walk upstairs.

‘I’ll have to get back to the dogs in the morning, but yeah. Maybe I could call in on that music store owner first.’

Hannibal’s hand tightens around his. ‘About that. I may have been precipitous. And I would hate to send you into danger. Perhaps we might go together.’

The veil thins again, inky tendrils peeking through. Will shoves them back into the darkness. 

‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’

‘Will?’ 

‘Yeah?’

Hannibal stops on the top step, turns, smiles wolfishly. ‘You’re very kissable, too.’


End file.
